


the skies and lands you rule

by dancingwiththewind (highfaenyx)



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Gen, character study of a kind, sarah/jareth implied, the susan problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-11 02:02:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11138979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highfaenyx/pseuds/dancingwiththewind
Summary: In the first, awfully empty and dark days after the train accident, she had blamed herself.





	the skies and lands you rule

In the first, awfully empty and dark days after the train accident, she had blamed herself. She should have stayed; should have listened to Lucy and Edmund, should have not attended that stupid party in Cambridge.

Susan would, _could_ have been with them now. Narnia or somewhere else, she of all people knew that it was not just a myth – no one dies, not truly.

 

She lay sleepless in her bed in the night, and asked herself the same question, over and over again. _Why_ , she pleaded, _why, why me? Did I betray you, my country, my kingdom? I have never forgotten you, I was your queen, Susan the Gentle; what have I done wrongly?_

 

Susan recalled every word she had said, every deed she’d done, seeking for a mistake, for a sign of treachery.

She repeated Aslan’s name, time after time, until her cries turned into silent whispers.

But the lion did not hear her.

Or, perhaps, he simply didn’t listen.

He was a god, and Susan was just a human, not even a queen – for what is a queen without her land and her crown?

 

***

 

After their second Narnia adventure, Aslan had told Peter and Susan that it was over for them; that they wouldn’t see their magical realm again. Susan was deeply unsettled by his words, although the weight of them stroke her only after a while.

 

 _No more_ , rang the words in her head.

No more would she yield a bow, and brush the fingers along its smooth curvature; no more would her lips touch the base of her horn, and produce a sound echoing in her bones, making the mountains shake, calling for aid or proclaiming victory.

Farewell to the evergreen forests; to the blue lakes and strong rivers.

Farewell to her people, her kingdom, her land.

 

Her brother took it easier; at least, she had initially thought so, until one day she found him staring at the sword hanging off the wall (it was a school museum trip) with a strange expression that reminded her of her own sadness.

“Do you miss the battles, brother?” she asked him, coming closer.

Peter shook his head, eyes still focused on the weapon, not at all startled by her sudden appearance. Like he knew she was there.

Of course he did, he was a soldier once, and being a soldier was not a skill that faded away easily.

Or not a skill that faded away at all.

 

Susan looked at his face.

She had seen that face age – once, a couple of years ago, though now it seemed like eternity away. Had seen the beard grow, the wrinkles appear, noticed the silver glints in the hair under the radiant Narnian sun; saw a boy become a king.

 

Now a boy was standing beside her again, but in his eyes she could easily recognize the king.

Susan wondered what he saw in hers. Did Peter the Magnificent hold the gaze of Susan the Gentle every time he looked at her – just like he had all these years ago, when they had been sitting by the fire in Cair Paravel, arguing over politics and laws, court members and royal attire?

 

“Not the battles, sister. It’s just...” he stumbled. “I want to feel it again – the weight of a blade on my belt, the sea winds in my hair, the singing of dryads. To sit by the fire, dance in the woods, with you, Edmund and Lucy; to defend my people and my land.”

Susan did not speak a word, so Peter sighed.

“You probably won’t understand, Susan. You are – you always were so complete, so logical, so steady, that you would know this feeling was irrational. And I know, we are not coming back, the story is over, but still… Sorry, Su, don’t mind, I will be okay in a moment.”

He turned his torso away from her, but Susan took him by his elbow, making him face her again, and pulled him into a tight embrace.

Her brother, always trying to stay confident, not weak in front of his siblings; in front of Lucy, Edmund – and now her.

“Don’t ever think you are alone in this, Pete. I’ll be always by your side,” she said to him, and felt his hands hugging her in response.

“I’ve never thought you were the hugging type, sis,” he said finally – with a note of humor in his voice. Susan smiled. “Do not tell that Ed,” she warned. “Otherwise your life will become a living hell.”

Peter laughed, and she knew his sadness took a step back – for a while.

 

Later, when they were strolling down the street and were approaching their home, Susan whispered – to anyone, really, not Peter in particular, but he heard her anyway, and squeezed her hand.

“I want to feel it again, too, you know,” she said. “All of it.”

 

***

 

In a while, Susan started to drift away.

Thinking about Narnia brought her pain, which did not lessen with years; time itself seemed to be unable to remedy her wounds.

So Susan stopped talking about it, refused to talk about it – with Peter, Edmund and Lucy. She knew her younger siblings and their cousin went for another adventure, maybe even two.

She wanted to listen to the stories they had told - to catch the glimpses of the world she loved so deeply and truly, of friends she made there.

But she didn’t.

 

For though a small part of her heart still hoped that she would return one day, Susan knew, with this irrational, surreal knowledge perhaps only gods possess, that she would never see _her_ Narnia again.

 

Lucy and Edmund were furious with her, sometimes.

Lucy half-heartedly accused her of losing belief, of trading Narnia for parties and boys, for grades and school, and Susan wanted to shout, too, _I will always love Narnia, no less than you, I hate parties and I’m not that interested in boys, but Narnia is lost for me, do you understand, and I’m trying to live here._

 _I’m trying, and I don’t think I’m succeeding_ , she thought.

But she kept silent, and one day Lucy decided not to talk about it altogether.

 

Peter, on the other hand, understood.

“It’s just your way of coping, Su, I get it,” he said to her after one particularly outrageous dialogue she and Lucy had. “Lucy will too, eventually. She has had her last adventure as well.”

“She doesn’t seem to care about it at all,” Susan replied, her voice still sharp, refined by the bits of the remaining rage. “She does not seem to realize that all we are left with is this world; she believes that she will return to Narnia.”

“And you?”

“No. I don’t.”

“Though I wish I did,” she added, her voice cracking and vision blurry.

Peter looked at her in a way only older brothers, who also happen to be kings, look at their younger queen sisters. “Me too, sis,” he said. “Me too.”

 

***

 

Of all people she had lost, she missed Peter the most.

It didn’t mean Susan did not miss the others.

She did; yet she felt the connection she had with Lucy and Edmund had grown to be shallow, and her parents… well, she had lived without them for long enough to get to the terms with the thought that one day, they will be gone.

But Peter, confident, decisive Peter, was the one who got her like no one did. He was somebody she could rely on, and that had always been the case – no matter where, here or in Narnia.

 

She called for him, sometimes, in the cold evenings at their empty home when nobody was around.

And after some time, nobody was around. Other people, relatives, friends, present and full of pity at first, have abandoned her soon enough – during the days Susan wore a mask of a healing person, complete person, exactly the one Peter had seen her in once.

The mask of Susan the Gentle who ceased to be when Narnia was gone.

 

She called for Peter, for Lucy and Edmund, just like she had called for Aslan.

But no one answered.

 

For she had betrayed, and this was her very own hell.

 

***

 

Susan tried to recompose her life from the bits she had.

She went to college, stuffed her head with studies and exercises, assignments and classes – that she knew how to handle.

Susan’s teachers admired her for her determination and wit; her peers respected her for control and self-discipline; but everyone – _everyone_ pitied her behind her back.

And Susan hated it – yet she smiled at them, like an old lady smiles at her children, because even though she was no longer a queen, she was much older than those around her.

She has found friends in books, though – like she always did. The pages, dusty and new, yellow and gray, filled with hand-written or printed characters, held no pity or despair, and she took comfort in it. She read stories about knights and crusades and wars, like Peter would; occasionally stumbled upon a love story Lucy would be swept off her feet by; buried herself in tales of mystery and intrigue Edmund would have loved.

And sometimes, when she felt brave enough, Susan opened stories about magical lands and creatures; not behind wardrobe doors, perhaps, but under the bed, in the sky or in the future, and lost herself for hours until her eyes and heart ached alike.

 

Books, knowledge – she always had them; they were no remedy, no cure to her illness.

Just a way to forget, perhaps. For a while - a while only, not an eternity.

She graduated – with honors, and a valedictorian speech, and all her professors expected her to go on, pursue a career in writing or editing somewhere far and famous.

Susan didn’t.

Instead she took over a small bookshop on the corner near her university, stacking piles of books and newspapers; selling stories and chocolates, and thinking, _maybe they can be your remedy if not mine; maybe then you’ll be able to live and not just exist._

 

***

 

One perfectly normal morning a woman came into her bookshop. Susan didn’t usually look much at the customers, but there was something about this one in particular that caught her eye.

It was a girl who looked like she was in her twenties, brownish hair, pretty face; yet Susan had strange, eerie feeling about her. Something sang and hurt in her very bones when she saw the girl, and Susan was drawn to her and couldn’t resist.

 

“Can I help you?”

The girl turned her face towards Susan, and Susan gasped, suddenly realizing why she felt so uneasy around her.

The girl’s eyes were of a deep brown color – the color of roots of an ancient tree, of ebony and rocks in castles’ walls, maybe even Cair Paravel walls, and these eyes definitely did not belong to someone who was young and reckless.

Susan knew that because she once had seen the same eyes in the mirror every day – though hers were green and dark, color of forest leaves, of Narnian sky after the sunset – they were the same eyes nevertheless.

A queen’s eyes.

The girl – no, the queen held her gaze.

“Yes,” she said. “I think I can.”

“Sorry, what?”

“I think I can,” she repeated. “Help you.”

 _She knows who I am_ , a thought flashed through Susan’s mind. _Who I was, what I was a long time ago._ She was not of Narnia, this girl; otherwise Susan would have felt it.

Her beauty was not striking – nor in the way Narnians praised Susan’s; neither didn’t it resemble Lucy’s peaceful character and Jill’s simple yet graceful features. Still, Susan could not get her eyes off her.

A note of madness, a note of charm, a bit of a smile – and an eternal wisdom of someone, who most likely was no human, underneath that façade; that was what Susan saw in the girl’s face.

 _Why would someone like that care about a broken queen_ , she thought bitterly.

“Because you are a queen, trapped in a human body; because once I had been, too,” the girl – _the queen_ – said. “Because you are Susan the Gentle, to the name of the radiant southern sun, and that is something even gods cannot deprive you of.”

Susan looked at her in astonishment. “How did you…”

The queen smiled, the smile highlighting her features, making them seem ethereal; and for a single moment Susan could swear she’d noticed an elegant crown on her head – weaved of starlight and milky ways.

She couldn’t resist the charm, and her lips formed a small smile in return.

She did not smile a lot these days, so even the motion itself felt unfamiliar; Susan didn’t realize how much she missed smiling – sincere smiling.

“Sorry about that,” the queen said apologetically. “I cannot help the mind-reading sometimes,” she explained. “Drives my husband crazy – I mean, he and his little secrets, like I don’t know all of them anyway, besides, who had ever said life would be easy?”

“Especially with me,” she added.

“To be honest, you don’t seem like a mischievous kind to me,” Susan cautiously replied, amused by the bluntness and openness of the girl.

The queen laughed, “Did you expect some kind of high and unearthly attitude from me?”

“Be still, child. Hail the queen of the Labyrinth, thy brought you wisdom and peace’,” she mocked, making up an arrogant gesture. “You just haven’t seen what Jareth and I did to the last runner – an immensely spoiled gentleman, I have to admit. I think we were both quite at our forte; bogging was the most innocent thing that had happened to him.”

“Labyrinth?” Susan asked, giving up on understanding the mysterious ‘bogging’ part.

“Yes. I am Sarah, by the way. Champion of Labyrinth, the Goblin Queen, if you want the full title. And don’t even ask who the goblins are – impish reckless creatures, I bet your subjects behaved better,” the queen answered with a grimace, though Susan caught fondness in her voice; seemed Sarah loved her folk despite what she’d said.

“Well, you already know my name,” Susan answered.

“Susan the Gentle,” Sarah repeated.

“No, I am Susan Pevensie, the bookshop consultant,” Susan replied, feeling uneasy after hearing the title she’d once had.

Sarah fixed her gaze on her and stared at her eyes for a couple of seconds; making Susan feel even more unsettled than before.

“You are the High Queen of Narnia,” she concluded. “My equal of a kind. No mistake.”

“There is no queen here, no Susan the Gentle, no Narnia,” Susan said stubbornly, and perhaps with a note of desperation.

_There is no Narnia._

_No more._

_And Susan the Gentle, the High Queen of Narnia, is dead_. _Gone._

And whatever caused it – Susan wasn’t sure – maybe that were Sarah’s words, and maybe just a simple thought that Narnia was no more, but Susan broke, and felt hot tears trailing down her cheeks.

“Oh, Susan,” Sarah broke the silence. And when Susan blinked away the tears, and looked at Sarah’s face again, there was nothing left from the cheerful, almost human girl that she talked to barely minutes ago.

A very old, perhaps even ancient creature stood in front of her instead; her beauty was breathtaking, and she wore a grey tunic embellished by stars and a crown weaved of starlight – the one Susan had already noticed earlier.

“Take my hand,” the fae queen demanded, and Susan obeyed. The fae queen – not Sarah; Sarah had been a human’s name – conjured a crystal in her other hand, and Susan felt the world around her turn and crumble, until they found themselves in a glass ballroom.

It was empty, except for a large mirror standing in the center. Sarah dragged her towards it, and Susan followed, a bit dizzy and disoriented.

They stopped a few steps from the silvery, perfectly reflecting surface.

“Now look,” Sarah – _the fae queen_ commanded.

 And Susan did – and the first thing she saw was Sarah, the fae queen, in her royal attire and all; her face serene and unearthly. Not an ordinary fae, by all means; not even an ordinary queen.

Maybe even a goddess.

But that wasn’t what stumbled her, what made her breathless and still.

In the mirror, next to Sarah, stood a woman.

She looked slightly older than the fae beside her; and while Sarah’s looks were ethereal and light, the woman looked darker, with raven-colored hair and greenish eyes; she also looked steady. Grounded.

Like she owned every inch of the earth she stood on; like she was an eagle reigning cliffs and mountains and the hard wind roaring in them, and Sarah was an owl, ruling over all the stars above.

She looked like she was a queen, all way through and out.

Sarah chuckled, and Susan woke up from the trance she’s been in; she turned her head slightly, the woman in the mirror copying her move.

“Your mind is sharp indeed,” the fae said. “I like it.”

Susan frowned slightly.

“What are you talking about?”

“Jareth – my husband – can turn into an owl,” Sarah explained. “A barn owl. If I could shapeshift, I guess I would be one, too; perhaps, an elf owl – that would be quite amusing, don’t you think?” she grinned. “And you – you are an eagle, definitely, who can you else be – with your wit and courage? Your elder brother you miss the most would be a lion.”

“And your other two siblings – I cannot guess, they’re too blurry in your mind; your bond with your elder brother is the strongest,” she added with just a bit of regret.

“It’s okay,” Susan replied quietly. “I think I know. Edmund would be a snake, as deadly as he would be just, and Lucy – Lucy would be someone sweet, but protective. A beaver, perhaps. Or maybe a badger.”

Susan glanced into the mirror again; the woman was still there, a graceful yet brutal crown of southern winds and sun on her head, and an elegant bow hanging from her shoulder.

Involuntary, her hand reached for her temple – to find a cold touch of metal, and the spikes of sun rays, and a wavy texture of winds in the hair.

 _It is me,_ she finally realized.

The woman in the mirror was her. Not just Susan, but…

The High Queen Susan.

Perhaps this Susan looked different from the one she had seen in Narnian mirrors once.

Perhaps the corners of her mouth were wrinkled more than she remembered them to be; perhaps the face was more tired and weary – but the eyes were the same; the eyes of a queen, the eyes of her king brother’s sister, the eyes somewhat similar to the eyes of the fae queen standing next.

Maybe even the eyes of a goddess.

“How can it be?”, she gasped. “I thought _she_ was dead, Narnia was gone, and I betrayed it, lost it... And now you show me this. I don’t know what to feel, Sarah, I don’t. This mirror has to lie, this cannot be true.”

Sarah inclined her head.

“This is not an ordinary mirror, you know. Most mirrors lie, a few tell you what you want to hear; and this one – this one shows you the truth, and truth only.”

She took Susan’s hands in hers and continued.

“My husband and I rule over a peculiar realm. It has a mind of its own, and although it follows our lead, it can change by its will. If it wishes so, I’d put it that way,” Sarah said softly. “But even if it diminishes to a scratch, even if we can’t find it on a map, while Jareth and I still live, still exist – it will never really be lost.”

“I don’t see how’s that connected to me,” Susan interrupted, disoriented, thinking, _I am different, I am not you, Sarah, I am broken and abandoned._

“Oh, you do, Susan, you just didn’t admit it yet,” Sarah looked at her, and Susan felt very young, very young and foolish. “Because – despite whatever that god of yours told you, or kept silent about – your kingdom lives in you; your kingdom is you.”

“Like all your knowledge, all your books live in you; our kingdoms are no more than stories, if you think about it; and yet, they are so, so much more,” she added. “Because of us.”

Susan did not say a thing; she thought, _what if it is true? What if I had always been Susan the Gentle, and just let myself sink into despair, think about betrayal, when Narnia never truly left me?_

_When I never truly left Narnia?_

But years of heavy weight she carried where too heavy, the words she said to herself too harsh, and…

“ _My kingdom is as great as yours_ ,” Sarah said suddenly. “That were the words I’d said to my future husband, to myself, a long time ago, when I had still been a human - or perhaps I had never been one in the first place, that would explain a lot. And for many years I lived – in a way like you, trying to be someone I was not. You thought you lost your kingdom, I tried to find it – but we both had it already, always had it, and always will.”

Her gaze became distant, absorbed by memories, and Susan found herself wondering what her story was, what her struggle had been.

“Jareth knew that, and he was there for me – always, even when I didn’t want him to.” Sarah concluded with a shade a smile and a flicker of affection in her voice. “So when I saw you there – lost and injured – I thought I could be that person for you. The words I’ve said are mine, not yours; yours are of betrayal and loss, and that is, perhaps, a heavier load. But what I want you to know is that they are not true; whatever is yours, truly, cannot be taken away.”

Susan blinked and the ballroom faded away; she stood again in the bookshop, Sarah beside her. An ordinary girl, but if Susan looked a bit more intently, she could still see the fae queen from before.

She wondered if Sarah always saw her not as Susan Pevensie but Susan the Gentle.

“I’m afraid I have to bid you farewell,” the fae said. “Jareth is waiting, and he is not exactly known for his patience, though I personally think it would serve him well,” she grinned like a mischievous girl. “I bet he’s already pacing outside.”

“Goodbye then, Sarah, the Goblin Queen,” Susan bowed her head a little, hiding a smile on her lips.

“Farewell, Susan the Gentle, High Queen of Narnia,” Sarah answered, her voice mighty and serene. “May your reign be blessed.”

Susan expected her disappear in a cloud of glitter or slowly fade away; but Sarah simply reached for the door, and went out like a normal person would.

A crystal laugh echoed in her head, _glitter is more of my husband’s style, you know,_ and Susan’s lips corners twitched slightly.

 

***

 

She thought the encounter had been a dream, a vision.

But when she looked in the mirror, every day since that day – she saw the crown, the bow and arrows; saw a long velvet dress and a dark blue cloak, and one day she finally had enough courage to look herself in the eye.

And there Susan saw the green fields and stormy skies, and the sea waves on the shore beside Cair Paravel; saw dawns by the lake and evenings by the fire; she saw Peter’s fair hair reflecting the sun, heard Lucy’s laugh, noticed Edmund’s firm fingers gripping his sword.

She smelled the grass, the salt, the air.

She was an eagle flying above the peaky shores and mountains covered in snow; a lion followed her on the ground below, a snake crouched in the distance, and a beaver – or, perhaps, a badger – observed her from behind.

She was free and bound, broken and complete, and no one could take that from her – truly.

 

 _I am Susan the Gentle, High Queen of Narnia, to the radiant southern sun,_ she thought, and the horn on her waistband sang to her words.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking about 'the Susan problem' ever since I first finished the Last Battle; I have never felt she had really been a traitor - maybe she was misunderstood and lost.  
> And many years later I discovered another heroine who was so different, and yet felt similar to me in a way - Sarah Williams from Labyrinth, and I just thought that, perhaps, she could help Susan to understand that she never lost Narnia. (my next fic will probably be about Sarah, by the way - before she became the fae queen she is here)  
> And I wrote this, my take on Susan Pevensie, Susan the Gentle, High Queen of Narnia.
> 
> Comments and kudos are welcome, as always :)


End file.
